


Pas De Deux

by ATenderCuriosity



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Graham - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Ballet AU, Ballet Dancer Abigail Hobbs, Ballet Dancer Bedelia Du Maurier, Ballet Dancer Hannibal Lecter, Ballet School AU, Ballet Teacher Hannibal, Bisexual Hannibal Lecter, Bisexual Will Graham, Dance Dad Will, Dancer Hannibal Lecter, FBI, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Minnesota Shrike, Romance, Sexual Tension, Single Dad Will Graham, Teenage Abigail Hobbs, Uncle Jack Crawford, Will & Abigail Father Daughter Relationship, Will still works for the FBI, dance au, gluten-free snack recipes, hannigram AU, mentions of violence and murder, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATenderCuriosity/pseuds/ATenderCuriosity
Summary: Hardworking single dad Will Graham drops his daughter Abigail of at ballet Practice, where he meets her new, charming teacher, Hannibal Lecter.





	Pas De Deux

“Dad, come on. I am going to be late for practice.” 

Abigail was standing in the doorway to her father’s home office, her arms crossed and a slight frown on her face. 

Like most afternoons when he wasn’t at work, Will was hunched over his desk, fingers dancing over the keys of his laptop. He was staring at his screen, obviously still unaware of his daughter’s presence. 

“Dad? Are you listening?”, Abigail tried again, her finger tapping impatiently on her arm. 

This time her father looked up.

“Did you say something?”, he asked, sounding only mildly confused when he finally met her eyes. 

Will looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes were even more prominent than usual. Abigail wondered when he had come home last night. Or had it even only been this morning? Judging from the fact that he was still in the button-up she had seen him leave for work in yesterday morning, she didn´t deem it unlikely.

“I said that ballet practice is starting soon. I don’t want to be late to my first lesson at the new studio.”, she said in a more gentle tone this time. “You said you were going to drive me since you´re supposed to be off today. Remember?” 

He stared at her blankly for a second before he finally seemed to have fully comprehended what she had just said.

“Yes. Yes. Of course. I am sorry for making you wait, Abi”, he said, snapping his laptop shut. He offered her an apologetic smile and stood up from his chair. “Go and wait in the car. I will just quickly grab my keys and check if the dogs are inside.” 

Abigail regarded him for a moment, before turning away with a “Fine.” and left his office. 

When Will heard the front door shut behind her, he took of his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache had started again.

 

The drive from their remote home in the outskirts of Wolftrap to the dance studio in the next city took a good half an hour. The streets were, as always, empty. Their sides lined by thick tress, their foliage already starting to lose its vibrant emerald color with summer finally coming to its end and fall nearing its beginning. In Will’s peripheral vision, the trees and the dark shadows between them quickly merged into one brown-green mass, colors rushing by the car’s windows like a quick stream. The steady rush of the outside world and the drowsy mixture of afternoon news and old country songs playing on the radio soon reduced his headache to a dull but bearable throb at the back of his head, the fog in his mind clearing ever so slightly.

He looked over at his daughter in the passenger seat. 

Abigail had not said one word since they had left the house and was now staring out the window, her head resting on the cold glass.

“Are you excited to start practice again?”, he tried. 

She stayed silent for a more few moments and Will thought she might not have heard him. 

“I am looking forward to dancing regularly again but I still wish Mrs. Du Maurier could have been able to continue her private lessons with me. I liked her.”, she answered him at last. Her tone was carefully casual, which made Will wonder if she was actually looking forward to it at all.

“I am sure the new teacher will be just as good as Mrs. Du Maurier. Maybe you will even make some friends in the new class.” Now Will was the one keeping his tone intentionally casual, trying to sound convincing but not too hopeful.

Will very well knew the dread and stress having to join a new “social circle” could evoke. In his own youth he had always had trouble making friends, especially in forced environments like school. Neither the desire nor the ability to socialize easily came natural to him. And even if he did manage to successfully integrate himself, he had still ended up feeling completely out of place for several reasons in more cases than not.

Considering it now, Will realized that things hadn’t changed all that much. His skills had definitely improved in the last decades. He was now able to hold somewhat engaging conversations with both people he knew and complete strangers, while even offering them polite, occasional eye contact to confirm his interest. But at the end of the day he still preferred to spent time alone or with his daughter and their dogs as opposed to with any of his so-called "friends", most of whom were actually only work friends at best, anyways. 

Abigail seemed not much different than him in that respect, only having one friend from school that Will knew of and she rarely even spent time outside of school with the girl called Marissa. She had only been over at their house a handful of times in the past few years, as far as Will knew. 

“Oh,I am sure I am going to make lots of friends, Dad.”, Abigail said. “And then we are all going to have a pyjama party, braid our hair and tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that she was looking at him with the sweetest and most insincere smile on her face. Will sighed. Teenagers were exhausting sometimes. 

"I am not forcing you to make friends, Abigail. I just said that you might be able to find someone you get along with well there. Nothing more. Nothing less." 

"I know, Dad. I was just joking." Abigail shot him a short glance before continuing to stare out the window again. 

They settled into silence once more. 

 

"What were you working on back home? Another case?" 

When Abigail spoke again the forest was already making way for the first houses in the outskirts of the city. 

"Yes, another case." Will's voice was tight.

"Another murder?" She looked at him as he gripped the steering wheel slightly tighter than necessary, curiosity glistening in her eyes. 

"Abigail, I told you many times that we are not going to talk about my cases. They are not suitable... " 

"For a child? A girl?" She was challenging him now. 

"No, they are not suitable for anyone, really." He ran a hand over his scruffy face. 

"Is that why you are not sleeping again? I can see that you are exhausted, you know." 

"It's just... a lot of work at the moment. Don't worry. OK?" He again offered her a smile that was meant to be reassuring but she continued staring at him nonetheless.

“You always come home late and even when you are home all you seem to do is work.” 

"Your concern is very touching, Abi, but... “

Abigail didn’t wait for him to finish. “I know you don´t want me to worry, Dad, I know. But I still think you should do something not work-related once in a while. Maybe go out with someone? Are you still talking to that woman from work? Alana? Maybe you could ask her on a date or something. " 

Will’s ears began heating up slightly. As close as they were in their little two-person family, he still preferred not to discuss his non-existent dating life with his daughter.

"We still talk, occasionally. But it’s just work-related. I don't think that she is... interested. At least not in a date." 

"Why not?”

"She has a girlfriend. They seem like a nice couple."

"Oh. Mhm…" Abigail was audibly thinking. "Maybe you will meet a nice dance mom at the studio. While I become best friends with all their daughters, you can bond over car pooling to competitions and start exchanging the best gluten-free snack recipes with them." 

Abigail was grinning now and even Will couldn't suppress a slight chuckle at the idea of him, with his patchy 5 o´clock shadow and dog paw- printed jeans, mingling with Minivan-driving, manicured suburban moms. 

"Or even better: The teacher might me single and in her late thirties as well. This is opening up so many opportunities I didn't consider before. " It was obvious that Abigail was enjoying herself now. 

Will couldn't help but smile.

"Sure, whatever you say, honey. They will surely all see the most charming dance dad in me."

They both erupted in laughter.

 

The building in which the dance studio was located looked exactly like Will had imagined when he had first gotten the bill for the enrolment in the mail: expensive, elegant and historic. It was older than most buildings on the main street of the city. 

Will pulled into the nearly empty parking lot in front of it and turned off the engine.

"Looks nice here. Are you ready?”

"Sure." 

Abigail was staring at the building ahead. A row of huge arched windows lined its front. The hall beyond was already lit with light glistening from enormous chandeliers. The far wall of the spacious room was covered with a huge mirror in front of which the barre was placed. Before it stood a group of girls, stretching their legs and arms in preparation for the class that was soon to start. 

"I guess I had better go now. Are you staying here in town or are you driving home and coming back up later?" 

"I am going to stay. Wouldn't be worth the drive. On the way here I saw a coffee shop a bit down the street. I am probably going to get a coffee and do some work there." 

"Even more work?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Or maybe just a coffee then." 

Will glanced towards the dance room again. A few more girls had joined the others in their warm-up.

"Looks like they are starting soon. You might actually still be on time if you don't spent even time more worrying about your old father, which is something you shouldn't do at all, anyways. Now go and have fun. I will be waiting here for you.” 

He offered her a smile which she hesitantly returned, adding an “Alright. See you later.”

He watched her walk up the stairs to the door, the bag containing her ballet attire slumped over her shoulder. 

 

Will was the only costumer in the little coffee shop. The only other person present was the waitress, a young woman who took his order of black coffee, served it quickly and then retreated into the back room behind the counter, sparing him of any unnecessary small talk.

For a few moments Will just sat in silence in the empty room, the only sound coming from the back room in the form of a soft static noise that soon changed into quiet voices chatting. The waitress seemed to be watching TV. Who could blame her? No other costumer was in sight and it had just started raining.

After minutes of just sipping on his still too-hot coffee and watching the rain trickle down the glass front of the shop, Will began feeling more and more restless. Not having anything to do, not being able to occupy his constantly racing mind in some way, was not only something that he wasn’t used to these days but also something that unsettled him to his core. 

The ticking of the clock mounted over the counter seemed to grow louder by the second.

He was looking around the room, desperately searching for something to occupy himself with, when he spotted a newspaper lying on the counter. Maybe he could ask the waitress for a pen and do a crossword puzzle, even though Abigail always said that he should rather save this “old men” spare-time activity for his retirement. 

Will got up from his seat and made his way over to the wooden counter. He picked up the newspaper and when he unfolded it to read the daily headline he was, unsurprisingly, met with a “MINNESOTA SHRIKE STRIKES AGAIN”, printed in angry red letters. Even when he purposely tried not to think of his work for a while, it followed him wherever he went. Lurking in places he didn’t expect. 

He returned to his table and nearly unwillingly began reading the article, which detailed the discovery of the Shrike’s latest victim, a 17 year-old girl who had been abducted, killed and then returned to her bed in her parent’s house. 

The first thing Will had realized when he had been shown the case file a few months ago was how similar the girls all looked. To one another and to his own daughter, Abigail. 

Jack Crawford, Will's superior at the FBI, who had known Abigail since she had been just a little girl and who had on several occasions taken up the role of an uncle for her, even going so far as to surprise her dressed as Santa Claus one Christmas, had realized this too. 

He had asked Will if he wanted to sit this one out, if he maybe wanted to take some time off, since he had worked so hard these last few years. 

Will had told him no, he didn’t want to sit the case out. He wanted to solve it. Stop the Minnesota Shrike. Prevent him from taking even more lives, from taking innocent young girls away from their families.

Will’s determination still had not managed to convince Jack.

“I just don’t want you to get too close. Too close to something you might not have the abilities to handle right now.”, Jack had said. 

“I am not blind, Will, I see how you look at the pictures of these girls. I know who they look like. You know I value your work, Will, but it might be better to have this handled by someone who is not as … affected.”, he had added after a short pause. “Someone who does not take this as personal.”

“I am not taking this personal. You asked me to borrow my imagination and I let you do exactly that. And I am willing to continue to do so. That fact that my daughter resembles these girls is just one more reason for me to want to find this guy as fast as possible. Let me do my work, Jack. I am your best chance at catching the guy. You know that as much as I do.”

In the end, Jack had hesitantly agreed. He had made Will promise that he wouldn´t continue if it became too much, too dangerous for him, “hit too close to home.” Made him promise that he would finally take some time off, after the case was finished.

“I appreciate your determination and I know you want to save as many people as possible, Will, but don’t you think that your own daughter would like to see you more often?” With that Jack had left the room, leaving Will sitting alone in his office, the victims faces pinned to the bulletin board behind the desk staring at him accusingly.

Now Will quickly folded the newspaper closed but he could still see the latest victims face. Looking at him out of brown, doe-like eyes. Still smiling. He stood up abruptly and put the newspaper back on the counter of the café, face down.

Seated back at his table, Will took a sip of his still nearly-full coffee cup, only to realize that it had already gone cold. How long had he been sitting here, staring at that article? It had felt like a mere 15 minutes to him but when he looked at the clock over the counter he realized that it was nearly time to pick up Abigail up again.

 

When he arrived back at the parking lot in front of the dance studio, more cars had joined their slightly muddy Volvo in waiting. He could see about a dozen parents mingling with each other in the studio’s front hall behind the glass door.

Car keys already in hand, he halted and debated for a short moment whether he should wait for Abigail in the car or join the other parents. While the first option was indeed far more appealing to him than the latter, he realized that if he wanted his daughter to become a bit more social he himself would have to bite the bullet. He pocketed his keys again and made his way to the stairs leading up to the studio’s entrance. 

Upon stepping into the warmth of the front hall, he was immediately met by an extended hand belonging to a brown-haired woman with a wide smile.

“Hey, I am Martha! You must be the new girl’s father!” 

He shook her hand, wondering how she could already know that someone new had joined the studio. “Will. Yes, Abigail’s my daughter.” 

“How long has she been dancing for? We don’t really get that many new dancers in the studio so it’s always a bit exciting, especially this close to the start of a new show!” Martha’s voice was slightly shrill but not insincere. 

Quickly counting back the years in his head, he answered: “Around 8 years, I believe.” He had enrolled Abigail in her first class a few months after her mother had disappeared, hoping it would distract her. Which it had done. To an extent

“Oh, that’s great! My Lydia has been taking pre-classes since she was 4 years old! I am sure the girls will be getting along great! I always say that team spirit is the most important thing when it comes to putting on a great show, next to technique of course.” At that she erupted in laughter.

Will nodded, offering her a half-smile which Martha returned with a now nearly comically large grin. 

Just when Will considered pretending to have to take an important phone call, a door at the back of the hall opened and out came a group of exhausted teenage girls now dressed in sweatpants instead of their ballet attire. 

Abigail’s forehead was still glistening with a thin layer of sweat when she came over to her father. 

Re-adjusting the bun on top of her head she said: “Hey, Dad. The dance teacher just told me that your signature is still missing on one of the enrolment forms. Can you quickly sign it? It’s the office at the end of the hall.” 

“Of course.”, Will answered. “You can wait in the car if you want.” 

He handed her the keys and turned around to make his way to the office, when Martha’s voice beckoned him to turn around again. “It was so nice meeting you, Will! See you next week!”

“It was nice meeting you, too.” The awkward half-smile once more.

 

The ivory-white hallway to the office was lined with photographs. Groups of little children in tiny tutus, adults in elaborate costumes on stage, black-and-white head-shots of prima ballerinas with sleeked back hair and perfect buns. 

Will wondered if one of the women depicted was the teacher he was about to meet. He adjusted the collar of his checkered button-up. 

The door to the office stood slightly ajar, golden light flooding out onto the speckled marble floor. After a too quick, nearly inaudible knock to the doorframe, Will pushed the door open.

Now he was meet not with the sight of an aged, former prima ballerina but with the back-sight of a man, dressed completely in black, from his fitted sweater, which was pushed slightly up his muscled forearms, to his polished Brogues.

The man was leaning over the desk which stood in front of him, both hands planted on it’s surface, long fingers slightly spread. Strands of his hair, a greyish-blond color, feel loosely before his face, which was turned down towards the papers in front of him, obscured from Will’s view.

“I am looking for the ballet teacher. I am supposed to sign a form for my daughter’s enrolloment.”, Will spoke up finally, after a slightly too-long moment of standing in silence.

The man suddenly straightened and turned towards him in one swift motion. His highly structured face, a bit older than Will would have guessed from the man’s statue alone, was still for a moment. Cool amber eyes were observing him. 

Just when Will wanted to apologize for seemingly rudely having intruded, the man began smiling. He extended a hand towards Will.

“You must be Will Graham. I am Hannibal Lecter, Abigail’s ballet teacher.”


End file.
